


ILY

by IsThatABillyClubInYourPocket



Category: Daredevil (TV), Hawkeye (Comics)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-05 00:52:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5354672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IsThatABillyClubInYourPocket/pseuds/IsThatABillyClubInYourPocket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt takes it upon himself to learn ASL, mostly because Clint’s been signing stuff to him and it’s driving him insane.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ILY

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I have a pretty shaky understanding of ASL grammar and syntax, even though I recruited my ASL fluent cousin to teach me the basics for this fic (I really like researching things before I write about them.) My descriptions might not be 100% accurate, as he’s away at college and had to describe the signs to me through text :P Luckily, I found a shit ton of resources online (I might make a research master post for future Clint fics if anyone is interested in the resources.)

The first time Clint signed to Matt, they were watching a movie.

He had this thing about not talking with food in your mouth. Matt always thought it was funny, I mean, the guy wasn’t exactly a poster child for good manners. They were sitting together on the couch, a little awkwardly to be honest. It was their fifth date, but technically their first if you don’t count the ones that deteriorated into vigilante escapades. Matt had planned for a nice dinner, but their reservations had to be canceled when the Russian mob shot out the windows to the restaurant during their  _last_  date. So there they were, on Clint’s overstuffed couch, with Lucky curled up at their feet. Clint took a handful of popcorn, stuffing it into his mouth as he stared at the screen.

“On a scale from one to ten, how hot is Channing Tatum?” Matt asked. They had mercifully been able to find an audio description version of 21 Jump Street at the local store, and he was set up with some earbuds and a portable CD player.

Clint made a noise as he realized he had to chew his giant mouthful of popcorn before he could answer, and held up his hands as if to ask Matt to wait. Or at least, that’s what he thought at first. Then the hand gestures became more purposeful, a fist circling near his chest, then he pointed at the screen, next pressing his four fingers back against his shoulders. By the time he was waving a hand over his mouth and then sliding both hands down his sides, Matt had caught on that he was signing.

“Clint, I don’t have any clue what you’re saying.”

Another frustrated noise reached Matt’s ears and Clint slouched back against the couch. Much more subtly, as if it were the equivalent of muttering to himself, he pointed to himself and did a sort of twisty salute with his thumb and pointer finger. Matt laughed as he heard Clint swallow.

“What does that mean?”

“I’m a moron.”

* * *

The second time was on purpose.

They were, again, watching a movie. Matt had started buying audio descriptions online, collecting them for movie nights as the dates became more and more frequent. Clint had demanded he buy Scott Pilgrim, and so they were watching it on Clint’s couch as Lucky begged for the pizza they had ordered. It was about halfway through that Clint started signing.

At first it was short little expressions. He would point at Matt, sign a word or two, then point at Matt again. Then Matt got up to get a beer, his radar sense still locked onto what Clint was doing. He pointed at Matt, then gestured at his shoulders with four fingers, thumbs pointed up. He brought two fingers almost to his lips, then closed them into a fist, which turned outwards and slid to his right.

“What does that mean?”

Clint smiled.

“Nah,” he said, “you get your secret braille reading. I get to keep my ASL to myself.”

“But I don’t write you notes in braille that you  _know_  are about you.”

“How do you know I’m signing about you?”

“I don’t know the language, but when you repeatedly point at me, I’m going to assume it’s about me.”

* * *

It kept happening. Usually when they were watching movies at home, but sometimes out in public. Matt could have tolerated it, if it weren’t for the time they were eating at a sandwich shop in Bed-Stuy.

Matt was listening intently to the sounds of the room, and from what he could guess, Clint was staring intently at his face. After a long pause, Clint sat back, beginning to sign something out. He was interrupted by a short, older woman who was hobbling by their table. She tapped Clint’s arm lightly, and he turned to her, starting a conversation. A conversation entirely in sign language.

She pointed at Matt, then clasped her hands together, then pointed at Clint. He shook his head, then pointed at Matt, who was starting to get  _very_ frustrated that this conversation was clearly about him. Clint patted his hand flat against his chest, then pulled a salute, but with his thumb clamping against his other four fingers. Finally, he tapped his pointers together, flipped his hands, and tapped them again. The woman nodded, then looked over at Matt. With a very confused expression, she brought two hooked fingers up to her eyes, then pointed at Matt. Clint shook a fist up and down, as if he was knocking on a door, then gave an over exaggerated shrug. The women smiled, and shook her head as she walked away.

“Ok,” Matt sighed. “What the  _hell_  was all that?”

“I told you man, Braille’s your thing, ASL is mine.”

* * *

Braille  _was_ Matt’s thing. Unfortunately, there was absolutely jack shit written in braille on how to interpret sign language, so he had to send Foggy out to the library to gather research.

It took about three weeks. Three weeks of carefully running his fingers over library books, tuned into the minute changes in texture where ink covered paper. Three weeks of memorization and practice. Three weeks of being constantly reminded that he was totally unable to use flash cards.

By the time he showed up at Clint’s door with an audio description copy of Skyfall, Matt was confident. Maybe too confident.

“Why are you grinning like that?” Clint sounded suspicious.

“Grinning like what?” Matt immediately tried to remember what expression his face usually had.

“Never mind. You have the CD?

Skyfall was great, but even better was that Clint was still signing despite his suspicion.

He pointed at matt and slid two fingers up the side of his nose.  _You’re a nerd._

He pointed to himself, shook his head while bringing his pointer finger down against the other, then saluted with one finger and brought his hand down to clamp over the other. He pointed to himself, spread his fingers against his chest, and pointed to Matt. _I can’t believe I like you._

He shook his head, then brought his hands to his stomach palm up, sticking out his fingers and wiggling them.  _No, wait._

He pointed to himself, then saluted with a finger and clamped his hands together.  _I believe…_

He put down his middle and ring finger, pushing the sign out to Matt. It was something Matt would have recognized without three weeks of research. A combination of three ASL letters, I, L, and Y.

_I love you._

Matt didn’t have to sign back. He knew Clint expected him to know the sign regardless of whether he knew ASL or not, but he spent three damn weeks on this, and he was going to impress his boyfriend no matter what.

Somewhat shakily at first, he pointed a finger to himself, then brought his palms together in an X, twisting them, and making an X across his chest with closed fists, then he pointed to Clint.

_I’ve fallen in love with you._

Clint stared at him, silent and almost totally still except for his rapidly beating heart.

He pointed at Matt, made an OK symbol with his hand, twisted it, and pointed at Matt again.

_You’re an asshole._

* * *

Translation of Clint’s signs:

**When talking about Channing Tatum:**

“He has a hot body.”

**When watching Scott Pilgrim:**

“You have a cute ass.”

**When conversing with the old lady:**

“Are you two married?”

“No, he’s my boyfriend.

“Is he blind?”

“Yes. I don’t know.”


End file.
